The Road Trip Affair
by aces
Summary: Napoleon and Illya transport a girl across the US to stop her being captured by THRUSH.


After intensively marathoning several taped eps of MFU (not to mention reading a slew of fanfic pieces), I of course felt a desire to write my own story. And this is what I came up with, an exercise (or is that excuse?) in characterization more than anything else. Don't know how good it is (warning: no action, leisurely pace), but it was fun to write and what more can you ask for? ;-) Standard disclaimers: don't own the characters, make no money off the story. I'm a broke college student (is there any other kind?), so suing me would only cause a lot of unneccessary hassle. *nods wisely* J  
  
The Road Trip Affair  
  
He was uncomplicated. That was the feeling she got from him. His friend also seemed fairly uncomplicated, but Boney--she would never call him that to his face, but any man named Napoleon really shouldn't expect anything else--had more going on than just dedication to his job, she felt. Or maybe Illya Kuryakin was just better at hiding more away from inquisitive people.  
  
They'd been driving all day. The two UNCLE agents had shown up in her dorm that morning, telling her she needed to pack--and fast. They were taking her to New York to see her father. They hadn't been very clear as to why, but she wasn't that surprised. She'd been expecting something bad to happen ever since her dad had moved to the other side of the country to work for the government at the same time that she'd started college a couple years ago. She wasn't exactly sure why she'd been so sure of problems--perhaps just because he was so far away.  
  
They'd also been evasive in explaining why they were driving across the country--she went to school in Kansas--rather than simply taking a plane. Something about it being more unexpected to travel this way--Solo had said something about "flying under the radar." She'd decided just to trust them and do what they say. *After* she'd telephoned her father and he'd told her they were genuine and she should do what they say. He'd sounded strained, but not because someone was pointing a gun at him or something. She knew that tension in his voice--he was worried about her.  
  
So she'd packed a small bag, grateful her roommate had already gone to class or breakfast or whatever Madge did this early in the morning, and nervous under the casually watchful eyes of Solo and Kuryakin. The pair had stood in the middle of her room, too cool to be awkward, but she'd more than made up for their lack of embarassment with her own. They'd escorted her out of the building and to a car, and she'd become even more awkward at the curious looks she'd received from fellow students. She knew being seen with two attractive men was unusual to say the least, especially since these men were unknown around their small campus. Kuryakin seemed to ignore everyone around him; Solo seemed to check out anything in a mini- skirt.  
  
And now they'd been driving for over seven hours, and she still didn't really have any better an idea what was going on. She'd spent the first hour or two on the road disoriented by her sudden clearing out of school, acutely aware of the almost-silence that filled the car. Solo had attempted engaging her in small talk at first, but her natural shyness combined with the oddity of this experience had left her tongue-tied, and he'd quickly given up. His stoic partner hadn't even bothered, content to leave her alone. She'd spent the next couple hours worrying about what would happen to her grades this semester--running off like this certainly wasn't going to help, and she had no idea when she'd be getting back. Now she was catching up on her reading for one of her history classes, wondering if they'd stop again soon to stretch. It had to be the most uncomfortable car ride she'd ever taken, but at least the boredom had taken her mind off her worry for her father--and for herself.  
  
"What class is that for?" She looked up at the sound of a voice and saw Kuryakin glancing at her, one hand resting lightly on the steering wheel, the other perched by the window. He nodded to her book.  
  
"History," she replied hesitantly, marking her place in the thick hardback with a scrap of notebook paper. "Western Civ."  
  
"Ah," he replied. "Which western 'civ' in particular?" His accent was odd, British overlaid with something else--Eastern European, she guessed, with a name like that. She liked it, having rarely heard something so exotic.  
  
She smiled slightly and relaxed without noticing. The two agents did, however. "At the moment, it's the Middle Ages in northern Europe. A lot more happening for the time than you would expect."  
  
"What other classes are you taking?" Kuryakin continued the conversation.  
  
"A lit class, a math class--my dad insisted--German, and another history class," she replied readily. "And I'm already doing terrible in math and German--this unexpected trip isn't going to help."  
  
"Well, perhaps Illya can help you with your studies," Solo suggested innocently from the back seat. "He's very good with languages. And math."  
  
Kuryakin used the rearview mirror to give his partner an inscrutable look. She was already finding their silent communication with each other...entertaining. "I'm sure your father would be much more suited to helping you in the maths department," the blond said to her after receving a reply from his partner in the form of a pair of raised eyebrows and slight shrug. The agent in the driver's seat glanced over at her again. "He is a chemist after all."  
  
"And I'm sure we could all do with a break," Solo changed the subject, sitting forward. "Why don't you pull over soon, Illya? I think my legs are going numb."  
  
"You wanted me to drive."  
  
"I'm changing my mind. You're much more suited for the back seat than I am."  
  
She bit her smile back. At least she wasn't the only one ready for a break.  
  
A few hours later--after Napoleon and Illya had changed places in the car--they stopped again, for dinner at a family restaurant in a small Missouri town, almost in Illinois. The two agents were arguing as they left the restaurant. Solo wanted to find a motel; Kuryakin was in favor of driving through the night.  
  
"Look, we all need some rest," Napoleon told his partner. "And we can't expect Miss Montgomery to sleep in the car."  
  
"I still think it would be safer to keep moving," Kuryakin insisted. They were talking in low voices, leaning against their car while she waited nearby, ostensibly not eavesdropping.  
  
"All right," Napoleon looked around the parking lot. "We'll drive a couple more hours, then find a motel. Will that make you happy?"  
  
"No," was the honest reply, "but I'll settle for it."  
  
"Your generosity is overwhelming. I hope that's all right with you, Joanna?" Napoleon turned to the third member of the group, who was unsuccessfully hiding a smile. She nodded mutely and climbed into the back seat of the car without waiting for the others. Illya and Napoleon exchanged glances, not quite hiding their mutual surprise. Illya shrugged. They both got in the front seat.  
  
She was apprehensive when they booked only one room for the night, but Solo explained they didn't want to leave her in a room by herself. The agents smuggled her into the room, not having registered her at all to add more to their cover, and she saw that there were two beds in the room. Kuryakin dropped his suitcase on the couch without comment. She wondered that he didn't argue with Solo for the other bed, then decided he probably didn't really care.  
  
Solo went to take a shower first. She sat on her bed, watching the other agent curiously. He'd just finished talking into his "communicator pen," reporting to his boss Mr Waverley, and was now shrugging off his black sports jacket. He took his gun holster off next but kept the gun near his hand. And then he snapped open his suitcase, took out some manila folders, and placed them on the table next to his couch. Slipping a pair of glasses out of the jacket's front pocket, he sat down in front of the papers, still with his gun in easy reach, the absurd pair of glasses stuck firmly on his nose.  
  
"Paperwork?" she asked in surprise.  
  
He glanced up over thick plastic frames, blue eyes expressionless and unblinking. "It backs up," he said simply. "I brought some along with me in case I had time to work on it."  
  
"Efficient," she commented.  
  
A tiny smile creased his pale lips infinitesimally upward without showing any of his teeth. She hadn't seen him crack a real smile all day and had begun wondering if he knew how to make the facial expression at all. Unlike his partner, who always seemed to have an easy, inviting grin ready. Illya went back to his work.  
  
Definitely uncomplicated. She wasn't sure she'd ever met someone so single-minded. His friend--and they definitely were friends, with their easy banter and instant understanding of each other, no matter how they were communicating--was as married as Kuryakin to the job, but Solo always seemed ready to drop work to flirt with a pretty woman, as she'd seen at her college and any time they'd gotten out of the car for food or a break. She knew though, that it had to be partly a cover, or else the man could never have made an accomplished agent. On the other hand, perhaps he was just very good at dividing his attention.  
  
She felt more comfortable around Illya Kuryakin that she did Napoleon Solo. Boney was a dominating personality--intimidating, really, to a timid soul like herself. Illya gave nothing away and asked for nothing in return. He would probably be completely ignoring her right now if he didn't have to watch over her. Despite that, she liked him. He seemed to value silence as much as she did, and she could be as quiet and unobtrusive as she wanted around him without him becoming irritated or nervous. He didn't pretend to be anything other than he was, as so many of her friends and classmates did; neither did he demand that she pretend to be someone she wasn't, someone cheerful and out-going. He was...uncomplicated.  
  
Solo came out of the bathroom to find Joanna propped up on her bed, a book next to her and a notebook resting on her leg. She was unconsciously biting her lip in concentration as she frowned down at her school work. She was a short girl, self-consciously slightly overweight, with unruly dark hair and clear brown eyes that seemed to take in everything around her without giving away what she thought of what she saw--unnerving, in Solo's opinion. She seemed to him the epitome of a wholesome Midwestern college student. He couldn't fathom her. He wasn't surprised to see his partner diligently working on reports.  
  
"Shower's free if either of you want it," Solo told them, setting his suitcase on his bed and opening it.  
  
Both Illya and the girl glanced up at him, then looked at each other simultaneously. "You go ahead," the Russian told her. "I've still got work to do."  
  
She nodded, favoring both agents with a quick, shy smile before slipping into the bathroom with her bag. Solo waited until he heard the shower start before asking, "Did you report in already?"  
  
Illya looked up from his folders again, nodding. "Mr Waverly approved of stopping for the night and suggested we switch cars tomorrow. Just in case."  
  
"Good idea," Solo agreed, laying out his suit for the next day. So far this affair was going remarkably smoothly. THRUSH didn't seem to know where or how UNCLE had spirited the girl away, and Solo was hoping to keep it that way until they reached New York.  
  
"What do you think of Miss Montgomery?" Napoleon asked after a long pause, folding up the clothes he'd worn for the day and setting them in the suitcase.  
  
Illya considered his answer, setting down his pen and slipping his glasses off his pale face. "Studious," he decided at last.  
  
Napoleon smiled slightly. "I'm sure you were just like her when you were in college," he teased. Illya smiled slightly in reply.  
  
"She doesn't feel a need to talk," the blond amplified. "I find it very...refreshing."  
  
The darker man glanced sharply at his partner, not quite certain he was being ribbed. "She certainly doesn't ask many questions," he answered finally. She'd reacted very little externally when they'd knocked on her door that morning, which had surprised Solo, but she'd sensibly called her father immediately after they talked to her. She'd maneuvered around them nervously when packing, probably unused to strange men being in her dorm room. She didn't look like the type to go to many parties, let alone throw any herself. She was almost less talkative than his partner.  
  
They both heard the shower turn off in the other room, and a couple minutes later Joanna Montgomery came out, wearing the same blouse and skirt she'd been wearing all day but now barefoot, her tangled hair wet and curling around her face.  
  
"Excellent timing," Illya said, standing up. "I just finished." He smiled at her, picked up a few things, and disappeared into the bathroom. Napoleon grinned to himself, surprised but pleased that his partner was attempting to make the girl comfortable. Perhaps there was something to that comment about Joanna being like him when he was a college student. It usually took something unusual to make the Russian show an interest in somebody, and Napoleon didn't think his partner found this girl particularly physically attractive.  
  
She was suddenly painfully shy again, nervous about being alone with this man who exuded almost overpowering charisma. She could almost forget Illya was in the room, when she wasn't glancing covertly at his long blond hair and pale eyes and black turtleneck. Boney filled the room with his presence, and even though she knew she could trust him, she was still-- intimidated--by him.  
  
She sat down on the bed, tucking her legs beneath her and looking down at her trig book, debating if she should try to plod through more homework problems or just give it up as a lost cause. Napoleon, glancing at her and taking pity on her--she was almost a blank slate as far as he was concerned, but she seemed a nice enough girl, if dull--decided for her. "Say," he said, digging in a pocket of his suitcase, "how about a game of cards before going to bed?" The pack was always in his suitcase, though he rarely bothered using them. He favored her with a dazzling, trademark Solo smile. "You don't look that sleepy."  
  
She frowned in indecision, then smiled. "Sounds like a good idea," she replied.  
  
"I'll just move Illya's things out of the way..." Boney settled the papers and folders onto the couch gently, as if they were a bomb that might go off at any second. Then he and Joanna sat down across from each other at the table.  
  
"What shall we play?" the student asked. She was twenty, Solo knew from her file, majoring in history, born in Illinois. She'd never been outside the US, never been further away from her home state than her college in Kansas. Napoleon wondered what she would think of New York City.  
  
"You know gin?" he asked and she smiled an affirmative.  
  
"Knock," was the first word Illya heard when he came out of the bathroom, toweling his hair dry. He stared in consternation at the other two, seated at the table, cards in their hands.  
  
"Knock? Already?" Solo looked as disconcerted as Illya felt. "I'm just glad we're not playing for money," he added when she spread her cards out before him. She grinned up at him happily, and for a moment her eyes weren't so unsettlingly watchful and distant, changing the whole cast of her face from worried to almost pretty.  
  
"Is this game only for professionals or can anyone play?" Illya asked as he joined them, sitting on the edge of Napoleon's bed since there were only two chairs in the room.  
  
"It's gin," Joanna explained, gathering up the cards and shuffling. "It's only for two people...but I think Mr Solo's ready for something else," she added with a sly glance at the darker agent. "Why don't we play a new game?"  
  
"Go Fish?" Napoleon suggested, rather glumly. Illya raised his eyebrows and smiled crookedly. It was rare he saw his partner so...defeated.  
  
"How about Hearts?" Joanna replied.  
  
"All right," Napoleon agreed.  
  
"Hearts?" Illya inquired.  
  
"We'll teach you," she grinned and began dealing.  
  
A few hands later, Joanna had relaxed enough to start calling the agents by their first names and laugh outright at them, especially when Napoleon complained or Illya argued. She'd also grown tired enough to start yawning every few minutes.  
  
"Right," Illya said after Joanna had won once again, "time for you to go to bed, Miss Montgomery. You're becoming far too cocky." She grinned in sleepy cheekiness but didn't disagree. "I'll take first watch, Napoleon- -wake you in four hours?"  
  
Solo nodded, both agents noticing but deciding not to comment on the look of unease that flickered across Joanna's face at the mention of setting up watches. In the midst of playing cards with the two agents she'd manged to forget why she was in this motel room with these two men in the first place. She murmured a good night, setting the cards down in front of Solo before slipping into the bathroom to change into a nightgown and robe and then slipping into her bed, under the covers.  
  
Napoleon gave Illya a look, but the Russian could only shrug helplessly. His American partner shrugged in reply and went to his own bed. Illya turned off the lights and sat at the table, waiting patiently until his partner would relieve him.  
  
* * *  
  
"There is nothing more conspicuous than a convertible in the American Midwest," Kuryakin stated with dogged finality, "unless it's in the Soviet Union. We're not getting one."  
  
"I only suggested it, Illya. And how would you know if it's conspicuous or not? There must be some convertibles driving around the Midwest."  
  
"Not many," Joanna intervened dryly. She'd gone quiet again this morning, not that that surprised the agents. She seemed subdued and tired, which wasn't surprising either since Solo had woken her and Illya at seven. And Napoleon was pretty sure she hadn't slept much last night.  
  
"It would be impractical, Napoleon," Illya went on. "We want to get Joanna to New York safely, not draw attention to ourselves and deliver her to the opposition."  
  
"Yes, thank you for your analysis of the situation, Illya; we'll get the car you want." Napoleon left to make the arrangements while Illya stayed with the college student. She'd glanced up at the sky when she heard an airplane overhead, and her attention had been arrested by the deep, perfect blue of the sky above her. Illya wandered closer to her and followed her gaze. He'd never seen anyone so intent on an empty sky before, not even a cloud disrupting the even smoothness. She looked thoroughly enchanted for some reason.  
  
"It's a beautiful color, isn't it?" she said and looked down again. Illya met her look, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. She wryly half- smiled; she shouldn't have expected him to be as excited about a blank sky as she was. "You get skies like that in New York?"  
  
"No," Illya replied, "the skyscrapers and smog are in the way." He glanced up at the sky again. She did have a point. It was a beautiful color, a shade he'd never noticed before, and all the more remarkable for its--purity, its lack of cloud cover.  
  
They switched cars and were soon driving on the highways again, Kuryakin once more at the wheel with Solo in the back seat. The American agent was looking out the window for lack of anything else to do, half keeping an eye out for any suspicious vehicles on the road that might be following them or for helicopters or airplanes that might be flying too low, half morbidly fascinated by the rather dismally boring view. "No wonder the Midwest is called the flyover zone," he murmered. "Doesn't this place have any cities?" He found himself unaccountably missing concrete sidewalks.  
  
Joanna snorted unintentionally and blushed when she felt both agents' attention focus on her. "There are cities," she said, "but they're spread out over a lot of land. And I'm sure they're not as big as you're used to."  
  
"And in between," added Illya, "cornfields."  
  
"What would America be without them?" Joanna asked rhetorically and went back to her history book.  
  
That evening, Illya and Joanna registered at a motel as a married couple, while Napoleon came in on his own and just happened to get the room next to theirs. Joanna had been nervous about the subterfuge, knowing herself to be no actor but still excited by the intrigue. Illya had reassured her that she didn't have to do anything, just come in with him and act naturally. He'd kept a gentle hand on her elbow or around her waist almost the entire time, casually protecting her from any goons that might show up. She just wished she could relax.  
  
A half-hour after all three were checked into their rooms, Solo knocked on the other door and waited until his partner opened it for him. When he came inside, he found Joanna sitting at the desk, her ever-present homework before her. Illya rejoined her, sitting on the edge of the desk next to her and critically looking over what she'd written.  
  
"Watch your word order," he told her, tapping her notebook with his communicator pen. "Wenn clauses put the verb at the end--and you conjugated fahren wrong. Don't forget what tense you're using."  
  
Joanna growled. "I hate this."  
  
Illya shrugged. "It's quite easy, really, once you remember the rules. English is a much more...flexible language in comparison."  
  
"Still catching up on homework, I see," Napoleon said, sitting down next to the other two, amused that his Russian friend really was helping the student out. Joanna glanced up at him.  
  
"I haven't been doing my German homework lately," she explained reluctantly. "And I figure I might as well work ahead so I don't have to catch up as much later." She threw down her pencil. "Look, when am I going to get back to school? Why does my father need me in New York anyway?"  
  
Solo and Kuryakin exchanged glances, having expected this outburst from the girl a long time ago. "It's for your own protection," Solo said at last. Joanna had known he'd be the one speaking. Illya always seemed content to leave the explanations and speeches to his partner when he could. "There are some people who would like to get to your father through you."  
  
"But how long is this going to take?!" Joanna closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry...sorry. I just--this is very disorienting."  
  
"We know." Illya actually sounded sympathetic. "It's difficult for you, but you can trust us. You should be allowed back at school soon."  
  
Joanna laughed a little. "Surprising I want to go back to my classes, isn't it?" She sounded like she was desperately looking for a way to keep her control.  
  
"Not at all," Napoleon smiled reassuringly. "You probably miss your friends."  
  
She nodded, still looking depressed. "Come on," said Illya, "the sooner you finish this paragraph, the sooner you can start the next one."  
  
If it were possible, she looked even more glum. "Goody."  
  
* * *  
  
Illya looked out the window agan, standing to the side and flicking the curtain back so slightly one wouldn't think it had moved at all. He held his Special loosely, almost casually. She was getting used to that from both of them. Casual danger. They never looked tense and ready for action but you could always feel it when you got close to them. Casual danger.  
  
They really were a fantastic pairing too, debonair Napoleon and self- effacing Illya. She liked how they worked off each other, how alike they were while seemingly opposites on the surface.  
  
She didn't like those guns, though, reminding her that she was in danger, that her father was somehow in danger, that she was alone in the middle of nowhere with two dangerous men. She just wished she could settle down. It would help if *Illya* settled down, actually. Napoleon had gone back to his room a few mintues ago, saying he'd check up on them using his communicator in a couple hours.  
  
"Do you really think someone would come after me?" she asked, watching the Russian agent reholster his gun. He swung around to face her, sitting down on the chair and propping his feet up comfortably against the desk.  
  
"It's likely," he explained easily, for all the world as if he were casually discussing some obscure technical process--or the conjugation of German verbs. "You're the only family your father has, correct?"  
  
She nodded, curling up under her bed covers. There was only one bed this time and no couch; Kuryakin had insisted he wasn't going to sleep so it didn't matter. She wondered how he could do it, as he'd been driving all day yesterday, only slept a few hours last night, and had been driving most of today as well. "My mom died before I was three," she said, "and my aunt--my dad's sister--stayed with us and took care of me until she died when I was sixteen." She still deeply missed her aunt--she'd never known her mother, and her dad's sister had been the best substitute she could ask for. Her father had always been a bit distant, hard to communicate with but still loving. She could talk to her aunt about anything. "We don't have anyone else."  
  
Illya nodded. "Your father's working on an important project," he said, "and now some people want him to work for them. They'll use any persuasion necessary. That's why we had to get you away from your university--you'll be much safer at our New York headquarters."  
  
She nodded reluctantly. "I understand, I guess."  
  
Illya gave her a smile, the biggest she'd seen on his usually impassive face. She was suitably dazzled and couldn't help relaxing and smiling back. "Get some rest," he told her, his accent soothing in the darkness. "Another long day tomorrow. We should be in the city the day after that."  
  
She nodded again, closing her eyes. "Thank you," she said after a moment of deep silence. He frowned at her in mild confusion; she didn't open her eyes. "For...protecting me."  
  
"All part of the job," he answered, unconcerned. His tone warmed with a tinge of humor with his next sentence. "But your thanks are much appreciated."  
  
"Some job," she replied sleepily and rolled over.  
  
* * *  
  
They switched cars again the next morning. Joanna left her books in her bag the entire day, staring out the window rather than studying. The sky here was grey, threatening, and she wasn't in the mood to do homework.  
  
She and Illya were waiting in the car for Napoleon after lunch, Boney supposedly having to use the facilities, but Illya knew the other agent really only wanted to get to know their waitress better. He waited patiently, used to his partner's whims, and glanced at the other passenger in the front seat next to him.  
  
Joanna Montgomery wasn't pretty and she didn't flirt, so Solo had quickly given her up and left her to Illya. The Russian didn't mind; he actually liked her. She appreciated silence as much as he did. And he could understand her shyness, unlike his partner, who always had trouble dealing with a girl who didn't automatically respond to his charms. Illya liked that she didn't ask him to talk with her, be pleasant and charming, but simply accepted him the way he was. She seemed...uncomplicated.  
  
She was staring out the front window now, at the cars and buildings and colorful signs by the highway, inviting motorists to eat here, sleep there, buy something for a great bargain over there. The sky was an ominous deep grey, thunder rumbling discontentedly in the distance and lightning occasionally flashing, sending golden tree branches up toward the sky, but still no rain. They had the windows open in the meantime; it was too stuffy in the car otherwise, and she appeared to be enjoying the cool breeze on her face, even though the look she wore on her face was its habitual serious, worried frown.  
  
"Lovely weather, isn't it?" Illya said. He wasn't one to make small talk, but she looked like she could use a distraction.  
  
She glanced at him, then just as quickly shifted her eyes back to the window. "I like it," she replied simply. "It's nice to have this kind of weather once in a while." She sat back a little, laughing to herself at something.  
  
"What?" Illya asked curiously.  
  
"This place," she waved her hand to indicate the small city around them. "I know it and I don't. I've seen dozens of towns like it--many of them in the past couple days--and they all look the same, but they're all still different. Is there any other country like this?" She laughed again, her whole face brightening.  
  
Illya half-smiled good-humoredly. "Every place is unique," he told her in his thick accent. "Sometimes they just don't look like it."  
  
She glanced at him. "You've been just about everywhere, haven't you? You and Boney, I mean."  
  
"Boney?" Kuryakin looked startled at the nickname, then laughed. Joanna blushed at being found out even as she marvelled at the novelty of Illya Kuryakin laughing. "I don't think anyone has ever called Napoleon Solo 'Boney' before."  
  
She shrugged self-consciously. "He doesn't get that all the time?"  
  
"Oh, he has many nicknames," Illya assured her. "Just not *Boney*." He relished the word. "I think I like that one." He shared a conspiratorial grin with her, and again she was pleasantly suprised. He actually showed his teeth this time. He really should grin more often, she decided privately.  
  
Rain started falling at that point with a vengeance, huge droplets spattering into the car as if a giant had spat them out, and Illya quickly rolled up his window. Joanna reacted more slowly, turning into the rain for a moment to let the water fall onto her up-turned face.  
  
"You're soaking the car," the Russian pointed out.  
  
"It's only rain," the student mildly countered. But she rolled up the window.  
  
There was a comfortable silence for a moment as neither person felt a need to fill it with chatter. She might not know much about him, but she felt safe in his company, even when he was holding that gun in his hand. "I hope I'm not in New York City for very long," she said presently.  
  
"Oh? I thought all American girls wanted to see the Big Apple." The nickname for the city fell easily from the agent's lips, and Joanna wondered how long he'd lived there, how long he'd been in the United States.  
  
"Not me," she confessed. "I really hate big cities--I can never stay in Chicago for long. I'm a country girl at heart." The last words were wry, an almost concealed shade of bitterness in them, making Illya wonder just how uncomfortable around people this young woman was.  
  
"Is that why you go to such a small school?" he asked. He didn't usually pry--it was none of his concern--but this girl rather did remind him of himself when he'd been a student. Studious he thought with an inward smile that never reached his face. "To avoid crowds of people?"  
  
She nodded. "I'm not a--people person." Again, that buried hint of bitterness; Illya wasn't even sure she realized he could hear it, and he wondered what caused it.  
  
He nodded in understanding and at that point saw his partner open the front door to the restaurant. "At last," he grumbled. He'd begun to think the other agent had decided to charm the entire waitressing population of the restaurant.  
  
"You're a good pair," she said as Solo looked around the parking lot, still standing under the awning, obviously waiting for the rain to let up.  
  
"Good?" Illya glanced at her. "Well, yes. We wouldn't have been assigned to watch you if we weren't."  
  
"I mean, you work well together." She appeared to be struggling to find the words she wanted. "You make sense as a team."  
  
Kuryakin grinned as Solo gave up on waiting it out and dashed across the lot to the car, getting thoroughly soaked. "We think so," the Russian said as the American collapsed into the back seat. "I hope it was worth it," he went on in the same tone, glancing in the rearview mirror at his partner and starting the car. "That suit will never be the same again. Not to mention what you're doing to the upholstery."  
  
"It's only water," Napoleon answered, repeating Joanna's words without knowing it, positioning himself so he could see his reflection in the rearview mirror. He finger-combed his wet hair back into order and adjusted his grey suit and tie. "And yes, I think it was worth it. I know where to eat lunch if I ever pass this way again."  
  
Illya smiled slightly, not taking his eyes off the road. "Of course you do," he said in his dryest, most noncommital tone. Napoleon's attention turned to the back of his partner's blonde head for a short moment, and then he calmly settled back in his seat, shooting his cuffs and checking his cufflinks. Joanna looked between the two of them and grinned to herself.  
  
* * *  
  
They took one room again, because there weren't enough empty rooms in the hotel for them to all be on the same floor, let alone in the same area of the building. Before Joanna went to the bathroom, she coerced Napoleon into staying awake the night and letting Illya get some actual sleep this time. Solo gave Kuryakin an amused look, saying to him after she was out of earshot and had turned the shower on, "Another admirer for you."  
  
Illya shrugged unconcernedly, stoically undisturbed by his partner's light teasing. "She's a nice girl," was all he said before pointedly laying back on the couch and closing his eyes.  
  
Napoleon stayed awake, checking occasionally out the window and rechecking his gun when his mind came too close to going numb from the boredom. Sometime in the wee small hours Joanna sat upright, groaning in frustration.  
  
He glanced over at her. "Can't sleep?" he asked, a note of sympathy creeping into his voice.  
  
She nodded, pulling back the covers and padding over to join him, glancing at Illya's tousled head on the couch. The smaller man appeared to be sleeping soundly. "Worried," she merely said by way of explanation. She hadn't been able to sleep at all the past few nights actually. She was nervous and uneasy, knowing the other two were wide awake and watching over her. She was looking forward to when her life got back to normal.  
  
"Well, you can keep me company," Boney said in his soft, pleasant voice, giving her a soft, pleasant smile. She wondered if he even knew how to yell. "Make sure I don't fall asleep."  
  
She smiled back, because one really ccouldn't look at that grin and not respond. "I already told Illya this," she began, also speaking in a hushed voice, "but I didn't get to tell you--thank you."  
  
"Thank you?" he responded. She half-smiled shyly.  
  
"For doing this," she explained.  
  
He smiled back. "It's what we're paid to do," he told her.  
  
"That's basically what Illya said," she replied, "but I still want to thank you."  
  
"Well, you're welcome." Napoleon was amused and somehow charmed.  
  
They let the silence drift, neither feeling a need to speak. He listened for any unusual sounds outside; she seemed to be nodding off at last.  
  
"Don't you think something would have happened by now if anything was going to happen in the first place?" Joanna asked, startling Napoleon.  
  
"I thought you'd fallen asleep," he said. "I find, Miss Montgomery, that you can never be too careful."  
  
"And you can't let your guard down?"  
  
"Definitely not."  
  
"Don't you find that stressful?"  
  
"It becomes engrained." The answer was light, but she knew he wasn't telling her everything. He changed the subject. "So why are you studying history? Don't want to go into the sciences like your father?"  
  
She shrugged. "Not very good at it," she confessed. "I've always been interested in the past. I don't know what I'll do when I'm done at school though. Teach, I guess."  
  
"I think you'd make a good teacher," Boney replied. "You don't seem like you'd yell at your students much."  
  
That earned him a grin, as he'd expected, and he grinned back. "You know, for being on the run, you and Illya make this more fun than it has any right to be," she said seriously.  
  
"It keeps you relaxed," he replied as seriously. A private smile crossed his face in response to whatever he was thinking. "And we're professionals."  
  
A whimsical smile flashed onto her face. "And that makes all the difference."  
  
"Sometimes. Now, Joanna, you really ought to try to get some more sleep. You're seeing your father again tomorrow, after all."  
  
"Oh, he wouldn't notice if I've got bags under my eyes," she said dismissively even as she obediently crossed the short distance back to her bed.  
  
"That may be true, but I'm sure he'd notice if you fainted from exhaustion at his feet."  
  
"Somehow I don't think I'd do that," Joanna smiled crookedly, "but I'll keep it in mind. G'night Napoleon."  
  
"Good night Joanna."  
  
* * *  
  
Joanna looked up when Illya stepped out of the bathroom the next morning. "Do you ever wear any colors at all?" she asked the Russian with complete seriousness after looking over his black suit and white dress shirt critically. It was very similar to what he'd worn the day before.  
  
"Red," he replied succinctly.  
  
"And very rarely," Solo added, picking up Joanna's suitcase. "Come on, let's go." They were out the door, heading for the car, when he added, "Didn't you used to have a blue shirt?"  
  
"Did I?" Illya sounded mildly surprised. "Oh. Right. I think it was torn to shreds by a very angry lion. I didn't wait around to make sure."  
  
Joanna fervently hoped they were joking. About Illya having only one colored shirt if nothing else.  
  
They'd made good time the first three days of their trip, and this last leg of the journey was no different. Joanna was amazed that all three of them weren't ready to strangle each other's throats. She'd been on a few long car journeys before and found them usually unpleasant, irritating, and dull. Perhaps it was the company. She didn't bother opening any of her textbooks again today, instead listening to the partners' light, easy banter and sometimes contributing to it herself, or looking out the window in contented silence. She felt safe. She knew she'd see her father soon and this entire episode would be over.  
  
"Civilization again," Napoleon said when they started seeing more and more skyscrapers and pavement. The idea of a corn field wasn't even a glimmering of an absurd possibility here.  
  
"Funny, I thought we left it behind," Joanna couldn't resist retorting. She was getting nervous, looking out at the mass of cars and pedestrians surrounding them on all sides. "I hate cities," she sighed.  
  
"You might not get to see much of New York," Illya said. "You'll probably have to stay in headquarters with your father for your own protection until THRUSH's deadline is past. Your father will only be useful to them for a limited time, and if they can't get to him in that period, they'll give up."  
  
"That's fine," she said. "I was kinda hoping to see some musuems though. Since I'm here."  
  
A smile lit up Illya's face, even though he didn't take his eyes away from the traffic in front of him. "Perhaps someone will be able to take you," he replied.  
  
"Illya, are you volunteering?" Solo asked from the back seat.  
  
"As you've probably never been inside a musueum unless for a mission, then I suppose I am," Kuryakin retorted.  
  
"Illya," his partner admonished, "you're slipping. I expect better from you."  
  
A while later they pulled up in front of a tailor's shop, and the agents hustled Joanna inside, only relaxing--and then not much--when they'd gone through the unorthodox entrance to UNCLE HQ, New York.  
  
She paused to stare at the door that had seamlessly closed behind them. "Doesn't that cause problems?" she dryly asked, turning back to Solo and Kuryakin.  
  
"Sometimes," Boney replied. "This way, Joanna."  
  
They led her to Mr Waverley's office, where she found her father sitting down with the Old Man. When he saw his daughter, Effram Montgomery smiled in relief and stood up to give her a quick hug.  
  
She hugged him back tightly, only now realizing how worried she'd been about him. "Hey dad," she said softly when he pulled her back slightly to give her a quick onceover.  
  
He kissed her gently on the forehead. "'Lo, Jo," he whispered back so only she would hear, using an old pet greeting from when she'd been a little girl. He looked over her shoulder at the light and dark agents who were coolly watching the family reunion. He grinned. "Thank you both," he said, leaving his daughter's side to shake their hands.  
  
"That's quite all right," Solo said, closely followed by Kuryakin's, "You're welcome, sir."  
  
"Glad to see you're safe, young lady," Mr Waverley shook Joanna's hand. "Well done, Mr Solo, Mr Kuryakin. No trouble at all, I take it?"  
  
"The easiest assignment we've had in quite a while," Solo replied with a raised eyebrow. He glanced at Joanna. "But it was pleasant."  
  
"Indeed," added Illya almost expressionlessly. Joanna smirked.  
  
"Well, don't worry," replied their boss. "I'm sure your next assignment will be much more difficult."  
  
"I look forward to it," the two agents repiled, not quite in unison. They speculatively glanced at each other.  
  
"Come Joanna, I'll show you your room," Effram took his daughter's hand. "You're next to me. I hope you brought your math work; I'll help you on it--"  
  
His daughter paused in front of the two UNCLE men. She looked at them both, then said, "Maybe I'll see you again while I'm here?"  
  
"We have a date with a museum," Illya said, "remember?"  
  
She grinned, and Napoleon took her hand to kiss it. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Montgomery," he said. "And remind me never to play cards with you again."  
  
"Right," she laughed in delight and turned to Kuryakin. She surprised herself by giving him a quick hug. He tensed, frozen for an instant, then swiftly hugged her back. "I'll see you later, Illya" she told him. He nodded, blue eyes sparkling, mouth quirking.  
  
"He gets a hug and I don't?" Solo protested.  
  
"That's the way these things go sometimes--Boney," Illya said, his face utterly deadpan. Joanna threw him a sharp glance, and they shared a secret grin while Solo tried not to look confused.  
  
Effram led his daughter out of the room.  
  
Napoleon immediately turned to Illya. "Boney?" he questioned with a raised eyebrow.  
  
Illya shrugged, easily concealing a smile.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Still reading? Still awake? Wanna write a review? Go right ahead... :) 


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